


Falling

by Aukum



Series: Angel Marco AU [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angel Marco Bott, Angels, Banter, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:57:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2885624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aukum/pseuds/Aukum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean gets separated from his unit during a sudden snowstorm and finds himself freezing and alone in the wilderness. The good news is that someone up there is looking out for him. The bad news is that Marco is getting tired of babysitting from beyond the grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This is set before "Counterbalance", but you don't need to read it to understand what's going on.

Jean should have known better. No, they all should have known better than to venture into the mountains with nothing more than their standard uniforms and gear. Being prepared before setting out was one of the first lessons to be forcefully pounded into every trainee's thick skull but not even those in charge of the Scouting Legion were immune to forgetfulness and complacency. That was why nobody listened to Sasha when she tried to remind everyone of the dangers of underestimating nature and because of that, now they were all going to die of exposure. 

The snowstorm came out of nowhere. 

One moment they were slogging through a mountain path while carefully picking their way over hidden rocks and sinking into the soft powdery snow up to their calves – and the next, the wind picked up. Clouds rolled in. In an instant, the lightly falling flakes turned from something beautiful and ephemeral into a terrifying blast of frigid white that was denser than any fog witnessed in Jean's lifetime. Most of the members of the expedition were natives of the southern territories and had never seen snow before in their lives, and panicked. 

People bolted in every direction, intent on finding cover from the sudden assault of bad weather and ignoring the barked orders from the squad leader. Or, to be more accurate, the untested soldiers ignored the orders because they were impossible to hear. The howling wind muffled their voices and the soaring valley walls made the sound reverberate – it echoed off the stone and, with the density of the snow, there were few options but to follow their ears back to the others. 

Jean should have known better than to wander off. 

It was easy enough to get lost on a mountain on a day with full visibility. What he should have done was sit his ass down on the ground and waited until he could see where the others were but it sounded like the squad leader and the others were only hundred or so paces ahead. It would be easy to find them even with zero visibility. Probably. No, definitely. There was safety in numbers, right? Finding the others should be his top priority because dying alone, like— No. Don't think about that. All he had to do was find the others and the sooner, the better. 

So, with his good-sense temporarily knocked out of commission, Jean left his position and chased after the echoing voices. He stumbled past trees that were already bending under the snow's weight and waded through the rapidly growing snowdrifts toward the sound. The others couldn't possibly be too far away, he thought, and continued pressing on. At times the voices sounded like they were just ahead and at other times they seemed far off. Jean began to wonder if he was getting turned around in the whiteout condition but every time he began to think that maybe he should stop wandering around aimlessly, the faint murmur of a voice would reach his ear and Jean would head off again.

But the longer he walked through the ice and snow, shouting for anyone to answer and hearing nothing but the wind respond, the more worried be grew. The small prickle of doubt grew heavier with every step until it sat in his chest like an icy stone but Jean still ignored it. He ignored the panicked voice shouting in the back of head – in his mind's ear – that this was a very bad idea because more than getting lost, Jean was afraid of what would happen if he stopped moving forward. If he allowed himself to stop and really think about the situation, fear would paralyze his limbs and that was just unacceptable. 

Jean made a promise on that day, to those anonymous ashes, that he would never let fear hold him back again. He had to keep moving. Had to. No matter what. He had to find the others because like hell was he going to die alone like M— like an idiot. Because only an idiot – a completely stupid and selfish idiot – would run off somewhere to die alone. Jean wasn't going to let that happen to him. No, when it was his turn to die, he was going to make sure that what friends and family he had left would know how and why it happened. No mysteries. No ambiguity. Nothing that could keep someone up at night wondering if there was something he could have done differently that would have changed the outcome. No wondering if maybe he had paid closer attention when Marco ran off, he would have been able to return the earlier favour and—

Pain sunk its nails into Jean's chest. Squeezed tight. His eyes and face burned with… with the cold. It was just the cold. Frostbite. Nothing more than that. The pain he was feeling was just the chill in the air invading his lungs and dropping his core temperature to dangerous levels. 

Jean stumbled over an unseen obstacle in the snow. Fell. As he lay in the snow, something seemed to murmur advice in his ear. It said that staying sprawled out in a snow bank in blizzard was a terrible idea. It said he should get up, but stop wandering around aimlessly. It said that he should take shelter under one of the older trees and wait until the storm passed. It said he had to conserve his heat and his energy because there was a chance that he would have to make his way back to the Scouting Legion alone if the everyone was scattered too far apart by the storm. 

Wow, Jean thought fuzzily as he tried unsuccessfully to rise to his feet, it has a lot of things to say today.

The nagging came from what Jean eventually decided was (probably) his conscience and sense of self-preservation. Unsurprisingly, it sounded an awful lot like a certain recently-deceased idiot and it, much like the person it sounded like, never ever missed an opportunity to be a wet-blanket. Jean wasn't sure if having the voice of your conscience turn into the voice of your dead best friend was a sign of growing insanity or if it was something more mundane, like leftover guilt from not listening to the many lectures that Marco doled out over the course of their friendship. But crazy or not, what really mattered was that this new voice of caution had much better instincts when it came to dangerous and life-threatening things that Jean's old one. The advice it was giving was actually very good and Jean would have loved to be able to follow its advice… if it wasn't for the little problem where he could not feel his limbs anymore. Snow was starting to pile up on his back, burying him, but Jean could not find the energy to dig himself out. 

That little voice in the back of his mind grew shriller with every passing moment that Jean remained unmoving. It shouted things like "Get up!" and "You can't sleep there!" and "Please, Jean, you have to keep moving!". It screamed itself hoarse because that was all that a disembodied voice could do. 

Jean gave a dry laugh that turned into a hacking cough halfway through. "You know," he croaked, "I'd really love to move… but I can't." 

Why not, the voice demanded. 

"I probably should've listened sooner," Jean mused, "because I'm completely exhausted. I just need to rest for a minute..."

The voice shouted: No! Jean, don't you dare fall asleep there. You'll die if you do!

"Would that be so bad?" Jean's words grew ever more slurred and jumbled. 

Yes! It shouted. 

How strange. The voice sounded scared but Jean was pretty sure that he wasn't that worried about dying.

"It's not like I like leaving things undone 'cause that is… is…" Vocabulary began to slip away, fading into the fog that was settling over his mind. "…not good. It's bad, sure, but. Um." Where was he going with this? Jean closed his eyes as he struggled to think. "It's— it'll be fine," he blurted. Oh. That's right, "I wasn't supposed to be here anyway." He was supposed to be in the Military Police. They both were. "It will be fine" is what Jean thought. All they had to do was get to the top ten and they were set for life but, well, "The best laid plans…" and all that. But at least there was a silver lining. "I got some stuff I gotta tell Marco anyway," Jean mumbled, "Better sooner 'n later… 'fore I forget again."

Jean knew he was in trouble when the shivering stopped but it was difficult to remember why he should care. The still-falling snow settled over his frozen body like a blanket and the weight of it began to trick Jean's fuzzy and confused mind into thinking that it was an actual blanket. Sleep began to pull at his exhausted body. In the distance, like through water, Jean thought he could hear the sound of large birds flying through the trees. Something landed with a solid thumping noise – falling snow? An animal perhaps? – that was almost deafening when compared to the sound of the falling snow. 

Jean had almost managed to fall asleep when he felt the weight of the blanket falling away. Something heavy brushed over his shoulders, his arms, his body. The snow was falling away. Something grabbed hold of his arms and began pulling Jean's unresponsive body. More weight fell away from his legs. It felt like he was being dragged somewhere… not far. Whatever was holding onto his arms let go and Jean felt himself being leaned up against a tree. Then, something touched his face. A hand? Hands. Warm hands that combed through his hair as slightly rough fingertips skipped over his skin with a touch that was a light as a breeze. It traced the curve of his cheek, his jaw, and hesitated on the corner of his mouth for the duration of a heartbeat before sliding away. The fingertips settled firmly on the side of his neck. It felt burning hot to his chilled skin and Jean flinched away with a pained hiss. 

"Sorry," mumbled a familiar voice.

Jean stilled immediately. Frowned. There was no way that he couldn't know that voice but the question was: was it doing outside his head? His cold-addled brain couldn't come up with a suitable answer so Jean forced a frost-encrusted eye open and squinted. Brown jacket with an emblem of crossed swords. White button-up shirt. Red-flushed cheeks that looked like they'd be soft to the touch. Freckles. Chocolate brown eyes that were now narrowing and blazing with an all too familiar fretful anger.

"Oh," Jean said faintly. "Hello. So… I died? Damn." 

The vision of Marco crossed his arms. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Something resting on his back and shoulders shifted with the motion but Jean couldn't see what it was from his angle. 

"It's nice to see you again?" Jean swallowed nervously when the peeved expression didn't change. "No? That's not it?" He tried a different tactic. "I didn't mean to die on a snowy mountain. M-my bad. I'm sorry? I guess..."

"Jean." Marco sighed loudly. "I really didn't want us to be reunited so quickly." 

Jean could only offer a weak shrug. Seeing Marco again, even if it turned out that this was all just a near-death hallucination, didn't register as something to feel guilty about in Jean's books. Unfortunately, it would seem that Marco did not feel the same way. 

Marco slowly and deliberately uncrossed his arms. Moved closer. Jean had to force himself to not flinch away when Marco sat down – the snow crunched loudly – and hauled Jean into his lap before draping something heavy around Jean's shaking shoulders. Something dark brown and speckled with white that was soft and ticklish and surprisingly warm. The difference between the heat Marco radiated and the ambient temperature was enough to make Jean's skin prickle and sting. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation but neither was it a very comfortable one. However, what really mattered was that he could no longer feel the blizzard's chill. Jean gave a small sigh of relief and the tension immediately drained out of Marco's body. They sat huddled together, listening to the sound of the falling snow, for an unknown length of time. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours. Jean couldn't tell. It was still too difficult for Jean to put together his thoughts. He was so tired. 

"You know…" Marco cleared his throat. "You're not actually dead yet." 

Jean scoffed. 

"Uh huh. Sure, I'm not." Jean gave the freckled boy his most unimpressed stare. "Because seeing and talking to my dead best friend is a sure sign that I'm in perfect health and–" Jean clumsily slapped at the arms wrapped around his waist "–touching a hallucination is totally normal too. Idiot." 

Marco hummed. "Well, I wouldn't say you're in 'perfect health' since you _are_ suffering from hypothermia…" He rest his chin on Jean's shoulder. "But hypothermia only makes you confused, not hallucinate." Soft, warm lips brushed Jean's cheek as Marco murmured "does this feel like I'm a figment of your imagination?" in a low voice that rumbled in his chest. 

Jean would have blushed if his blood wasn't busy with trying to keep his internal organs from freezing. No heat rose to his face but, somehow, Marco knew where Jean's mind had immediately wandered off to. He grinned and looked entirely too pleased with himself when Jean squirmed uncomfortably. 

"Poltergeist then," Jean grunted. 

Marco smiled and touched his cheek to Jean's. "Nope. Try again." 

"Hell, I don't know." Jean dropped head back and groaned. "Lemme sleep on it and I'll guess later." He gave up trying to keep his heavy eyelids from falling shut. "Or, wait, is that a bad idea still?" Jean mumbled. "Bah, who cares…" Jean twisted so he could press his wind-burned face in the warmth of… of… the soft and feathery and warm whatever-it-was that Marco wrapped around them. "You're here now." What was that, anyway? "So be a pal and wake me up if it looks like I'm dying, okay?"

Jean cracked an eye open. Black-tipped brown feathers and little white speckles swam in his blurry vision. A down blanket? Why was Marco walking around in the mountains with just a feather down blanket? That was weird, even for him, but Jean dismissed the matter with a mental shrug. What Marco did in his free time was his own business. Jean closed his eyes again and snuggled down into the comforting warmth.

"Whatever," Jean grumbled. "Just remember: wake me up if I'm dying." 

"That's—" Marco shook his head. "Nevermind," he sighed when Jean made a questioning noise in his throat. "Just go to sleep. You don't need to worry, Jean..." The soft tone shifted something firmer. Resolute. "I will look after you." 

Jean mumbled something that was either thanks or a question. Marco was quiet for a long time before he replied in a low voice that was little more than an indistinct hum. Jean struggled make sense of the words but exhaustion grabbed tight and his consciousness slipped away. For a time, he drifted in a cocoon of feathery warmth and an achingly nostalgic scent that was abruptly ripped away icy cold hands that alternated between slapping his face and shaking him by the shoulders. 

"Don't die! Wake up you idiot!" Sasha's voice was shrill with panic. "Jean! Answer me!"

"Ow. Ow! OW, I said!" Jean snarled hoarsely and batted the hands away. "Damn it, stop that! I'm awake!" 

"Oh thank goodness," Sasha said. Then she turned around and shouted at the top of her lungs. "Hey guys, I found him! He's fine!"

Someone in the distance yelled back. 

Jean winced. "Are you trying to cause an avalanche?" He rubbed his sore neck. "Anyway… what happened?" 

It felt like he was forgetting something important. He remembered hiking with the unit, then a sudden snowstorm, wandering in circles for hours and then… and then? Then what? All that was left was the memory of an achingly nostalgic scent, warmth, and a voice. Whose voice? Did that actually happen or did he imagine it? Jean examined his surroundings as casually as he could. A thick layer of fresh snow covered the ground, erasing all tracks except for the wide trench that Sasha left behind in her wake when she hurried over to where Jean had taken shelter. Shelter was, apparently, an old tree with huge branches that caught most of the falling snow and deflected some of the storm's effects. What Jean thought was a soft blanket turned out to be an insulating layer of snow packed on top of the tree's sagging branches to form a sort of natural lean-to shelter. It wasn't as heavy as Jean expected when he touched it. It was a whole lot pricklier, too.

Jean abruptly realized that Sasha was still talking and he refocused in time to catch the tail end of her words. 

"—one that we haven't found yet. That's why we were worried. You ass!" Sasha punched his shoulder.

"Hey!" Jean rubbed his arm. She was much stronger than she looked. 

"If you knew how to find shelter in a mountain climate, then you should've said something! I got all worried for nothing, you jerk!" She punched him again for good measure before helping him up. "Okay, let's go. The others are this way." She began wading back through the path she left in the freshly fallen snow. 

Jean hesitated. He frowned and pressed hand to his chest where an indistinct pain burned inside. His eyes felt hot and his throat was sore. No, tight. Hypothermia? No, that's not it. This was more like when… 

"What're you spacing out for?" Sasha put her hands on her hips. "Something up?" 

Jean shook his head and crammed his hands in his pockets. 

"No, It's nothing. Just my imagination."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stress-relieving story I wrote for my own amusement because I spent most of December feeling cranky and murderous. It started life as a silly and fluffy blanket fic (if wings can count as a blanket...) but, well, it seems that I'm compelled to put a little plot into everything I write. Oops.
> 
> And if you're wondering where this is in the Counterbalance timeline... it's sometime during the 1month time-skip after everyone joined the Scouting Legion (Counterbalance itself is set after the end of the anime). This is the "final straw" incident that convinces Marco that he can not, in good conscience, move on and leave Jean behind to his own devices.


End file.
